Finding Christmas. Gail Martin Gaymer

      “What do you want?”

      Only a sigh wrenched the silence.

      Breath shot from Joanne’s lungs like air from a pricked balloon. Anger fired within her. “If you’re not going to talk, then leave me alone.”

      She heard a click, then an empty line.

      Joanne slammed the receiver onto the cradle.

      Sick people. They had nothing better to do than harass people. Play the jokester. But it wasn’t funny. Not at all. Then her thought shifted. She recalled the voice and the foreboding. The coincidence seemed too great.

      Benjamin? Was he on the way? She called his numbers and got his answering machine. She hung up. The police. She needed someone. She grabbed the telephone book from a drawer, found the number and punched the buttons. Her body trembled as she waited.

      “Grosse Pointe Department of Public Safety. Officer James. May I help you?”

      Joanne opened her mouth and choked on the words. “I—I’ve received some strange telephone calls.” She sounded foolish.

      “What kind of calls?” the officer asked.

      She gave her name and tried to explain, but the more she said, the more insane she sounded. The officer obviously didn’t see the connection between her daughter’s death three years ago and two anonymous calls. Right now, neither did she.

      “Was the caller abusive or obscene? Or were you threatened in any way?”

      “They were hang-ups,” she said, realizing how trivial it sounded.

      “Ma’am, two hang-ups doesn’t really warrant police action. You’re welcome to call your telephone company, but unless the calls are threatening or abusive, we can’t take action. After three telephone calls from the same caller, you can contact the telephone company and then we’d be happy to take your report.”

      Frustration charged through Joanne. “Thank you for your time.”

      “If this continues, call your phone company and then give us a call.”

      “Thanks,” she said again, and hung up feeling mortified. He’d explained twice, as if she were stupid.

      Joanne eyed the clock again, wishing Benjamin were there. Her mind reeled as she wandered to the living room. She sank into a chair and her hands trembled as she ran them along the nape of her neck, thinking about the calls. Two hang-ups was nothing, just as the officer had said. So why was she distressed?

      She needed Benjamin to tell her she wasn’t losing her mind. Hearing Mandy’s voice in her head had been bad enough. Now, on the anniversary of her death, anonymous calls struck her as a cruel coincidence.

      She lowered her face into her hands. “Lord, why? If You love me, why are You tormenting me like this?” But beneath her frustration, she could hear Benjamin’s voice: You can’t blame God for all the evil in the world.

      Joanne lowered her head to the table and wept while her prayer rose from her heart, asking the Lord to forgive her. You’ve promised to be here when I call Your name. Here I am, Father, begging for mercy.

      Her mind whirring with questions, Joanne rose and dragged herself into the living room. Weariness had overcome her, and she wanted to sleep. She stood for a moment in the light of the living room and watched the snow drift to the ground—white, pure, fresh, like a baby, like Mandy had been once.

      Tears pooled in Joanne’s eyes, then rolled down her cheeks in rivulets. She’d felt sorry for herself for so long, and now this woman’s voice had dragged her back into self-pity.

      Joanne shook her head, trying to release her twisted thoughts. What did it matter? God knew the caller’s identity. It wasn’t her place to sit in judgment. “Lord forgive this woman,” she said aloud. “Forgive me for thinking the calls had any evil purpose. Help me find peace.”

      Gooseflesh rose on Joanne’s arms as a Scripture came to her: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.” Then verses rolled through her mind: “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” She’d read similar words the other night in the Christmas story, when the angels told the shepherds not to be afraid. The words settled over her like rays of the sun. She needed peace, too. “Thank you, Lord.”

      She forced herself from the window as the snow blew into drifts, preparing the earth for everyone’s dream—a white Christmas. It hadn’t been her dream, but since Benjamin had returned, he’d brought a little light into her spirit. She wanted to talk with Benjamin and hear his calm, reassuring voice.

      The sound of a car caught Joanne’s attention. She rose and went to the window. Benjamin at last. She opened the door and waited.

      When he saw Joanne, Benjamin knew immediately that she was distraught. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said as he stepped inside. “I couldn’t get out of the dinner, and it went on forever. You remember Greg’s long evenings. It hasn’t changed.”

      “I’m just glad you came,” she said, beckoning him into the living room.

      He followed her through the archway. “What’s happened? More voices?” He sank onto the sofa as she paced in front of him.

      “A voice, but this time a real one.”

      “A real one? What do you mean?”

      “Telephone calls. I had two tonight.” She finally settled into a chair.

      Benjamin winced, knowing he should have been there earlier. His chest tightened. “What kind of calls.”

      “Anonymous. Nothing, but they upset me. I called the police, but they can’t do anything. I made a fool of myself.”

      “No you didn’t. You felt threatened. So tell me exactly what happened.”

      He listened as she detailed the incident. His mind tried to make sense of it. He understood why the police had passed it off. Two calls—hang-ups really. What could they do? “What’s going on at Solutions? Is someone frustrated with your status with the company?”

      She shook her head. “I can’t imagine it being anyone from there. Certainly there’s tension at times, particularly in the powwow sessions when everyone has competing ideas, but no. No one would do that.”

      “What about your promotion?”

      “No. It’s no one from Solutions. I’m positive.”

      “You never know.” He didn’t want to remind her that most crimes involved people who were family or friends.

      “When Greg was alive, I learned to tolerate such calls. I’m sure you’ve had them. They were rare. Angry defendants usually blame the prosecuting attorney.” She looked at him as if seeking validation. “But why me, and why now? It’s morbid and awful.”

      “It was a wrong number or a crank call. The world has some sick people.”

      “I know, but…” She rose again to gaze out the window. “I’d probably blow if off if I weren’t so jittery already.” She turned and gave him a telling look. “I’m infuriated at myself for letting it upset me.”

      “You have every right to be, but don’t be angry at yourself.” He stretched his arm toward her. “Come here.”

      Her look softened as she walked across the room, then sank beside him on the sofa.

      “Don’t forget, if it continues you can do something,” he said. “You can change your telephone number. Have it unlisted.” A new thought struck him. “You have caller ID, right? Did you notice—”

      “It was blocked. Both times. I looked.”

      “It’s frustrating.” He shifted his hand and rested it on hers. Her fingers felt as cold as his had been when he arrived. Benjamin pressed his warm palm against them. “I wish I had better news,